


We're Not Promised Tomorrow

by enby-crowley (probablypadders)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale-Centric (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 02:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablypadders/pseuds/enby-crowley
Summary: Aziraphale has a strange dream.Inspired by the song 'Like I'm Gonna Lose You' by Meghan Trainor and John Legend which is also where the title came from.





	We're Not Promised Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlelostsputnik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostsputnik/gifts).



> Dedicated to @littlelostsputnik aka Effie who gave me the encouragement I needed to finish and post this little piece! To the world <3

Aziraphale opens his eyes in a blank white room.

It’s eerily similar to the cold, clinical aesthetic of Heaven but somehow he knows that isn’t where he is; there’s no anxious twist of his gut, no lingering sense of being watched in the empty space, just a seemingly endless expanse of white that would perhaps be painful for mortal eyes to behold.

Then he sees the door.

The gleaming silver knob looks somewhat out of place and Aziraphale is drawn to it, his body moving without thought until he can push the door open and step into… a garden.

He feels like it should be familiar but Aziraphale can’t place it, yet he moves past the threshold and lets the door swing closed behind him. A light breeze ruffles his hair, his clothes; flowing white robes not unlike those he’d worn whilst guarding the Eastern Gate.

This isn’t Eden though, beautiful as it is. Aziraphale presses forward, admiring the riot of colour and lush greenery. A true peace he hasn’t known in a long, long time settles over him as he wanders through the garden, and then he notices a lone figure in the distance. They’re wearing white robes similar to his own but his attention is caught by the flaming auburn hair cascading to their waist in a simple braid. It’s so familiar…

The figure turns and Aziraphale’s breath catches in his throat.

 _Crowley_.

The name barely enters his mind before Aziraphale appears at Crowley’s side, the other entity turning to him with that warm, soft smile he seems to reserve solely for Aziraphale.

“I was wondering when you’d get here, angel.”

Aziraphale frowns.

“Where are we?”

“Home.”

“I— I don’t follow. We live in London!”

It’s Crowley’s turn to frown and there’s something sad in his eyes when he speaks again, tone gentle as if he’s trying to explain something that should be obvious.

“We can’t stay in London, angel. They’re coming for us. We’ll be safe here”

Crowley steps forward, settles his hands on Aziraphale’s waist, and oh, it _aches_. Everything he wants but has never allowed himself to have is right here in front of him, close enough to touch.

“What about Earth?”

“We don’t need Earth anymore, Aziraphale. All we need is one another.”

Aziraphale falters and Crowley draws him in, hugging him tightly. He smells like home.

One moment Aziraphale is wrapped in Crowley’s arms, the next he’s alone again.

“Crowley? _Crowley!_ This isn’t funny, where did you go?”

No answer.

The sudden absence hits like a punch in the gut and he looks around wildly for something, _anything_ to show him where to go, what to do. The garden remains silent.

“Please don’t leave me, Crowley.” he begs, sinking to his knees.

***

Sitting bolt upright with a start, Aziraphale clutches his pounding heart and gulps in one breath, then another; his vision is too blurred for him to make out anything of the room around him but movement to his right catches his attention.

“...Angel? S’matter?”

Aziraphale sighs heavily but his tongue is heavy and uncooperative, so he settles for wiping his damp eyes with the back of his hand as a warm pressure sweeps up and down his back.

The next thing he knows he’s being pulled sideways, towards Crowley, the demon calling on some of his preternatural strength to lift him as if he weighed little more than a feather and it doesn’t even occur to him to try and resist. Instead he lets himself curl inward, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder and taking a few more deep, calming breaths. 

Slender arms curl loosely around his waist and the tension slowly bleeds out of Aziraphale’s frame; a quiet, desperate sound catches in his throat when Crowley leans away from him for a moment but he’s back in a heartbeat holding a box of tissues which the angel accepts gratefully. Once he’s wiped his face he feels a little more himself.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Aziraphale murmurs eventually, twisting a tissue around his trembling fingers as he looks anywhere that isn’t at Crowley.

“I’m right here, angel.”

“I know, but— the trials. What if we’re wrong about the prophecy? What if I’ve made a mistake and we—“

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley’s firm tone makes the angel look up, those golden eyes burning into stormy blue with an intensity that makes Aziraphale forget how to breathe.

“You’re the smartest being I know. If anyone could figure out what Agnes meant it’s you. I trust you.”

He softens, and Aziraphale realises he’s not the only one trembling when slender fingers rest against his cheek.

“Nothing short of total destruction would stop me finding my way back to you, angel, and even then I’d still try.”

“Crowley…”

The demon shakes his head, dropping his hand to guide one of Aziraphale’s to his chest and hold it there; the angel feels the fluttering pulse under his palm and then, closing his eyes to focus, Crowley’s emotions open themselves up to him.

A curl of anxiety, tempered by hope and faith in them. In _him_.

Love. 

So much love.

“Oh, _Crowley…_ ” he breathes without opening his eyes.

“‘Zira.”

Speechless, Aziraphale rests their foreheads together and opens his own mind to Crowley, letting him read the fear, the self-doubt, but most of all the tidal wave of love that threatens to sweep him away at any given moment.

He’s not sure who gasps. The next thing he’s aware of is the soft, sweet brush of their lips, his fingers bunching in Crowley’s shirt to draw him ever closer.

“We’ll get through this together.” Crowley whispers when they finally part, still forehead to forehead as they breathe as one.

“I believe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr @enby-crowley! I've got more GO fics in the works :)


End file.
